If I could, I'd only want to make you smile
by Tania-Terror
Summary: Ian's waited for this moment, the moment for Mickey to be released, since Mickey first went in. Mickey's waited for it too, but Ian wonders if it's for the same reasons Ian has.


**If I could, I'd only want to make you smile**

* * *

 **Notes:** Takes place in s2  
Title from the song Make You Smile by +44

 _If I could_  
 _I'd only want to make you smile_  
 _If you were to stay with me a while_

* * *

Ian's there when Mickey gets out from juvie. He smiles, almost shyly, embarrassed. Not just because his smiles tend to make Mickey uncomfortable - he never wants that, not that Mickey can see him at this distance anyways - but also because he can't believe he's allowed himself to get so worked up over Mickey since he's been gone. Ian's waited for this moment, the moment for Mickey to be released, since Mickey first went in.

Mickey's waited for it too, but Ian wonders if it's for the same reasons Ian has.

Probably not.

He's too happy to linger on his doubts anyways, and confidently greets Mickey with a, "Hey, Mick," when Mickey asks what the hell Ian is doing here. Ian watches affectionately as Mandy embraces her brother warmly, only to get a pinch on her nipple in return when she makes a comment on how Mickey smells. There's a sense of… admiration he has about these two - Mickey and Mandy.

Ian keeps smiling.

"Ay, Fuck you, fuck you, and especially fuck you!"

Ian doesn't laugh when Mickey yells and flips off the guards, only because he's genuinely concerned Mickey will get thrown back in juvie for that little outburst. He says as much, and tugs Mickey along. He tries to swing over his arm on Mickey's shoulder, like he does with Mandy, but Mickey waves him off. It's fine. It's fine because Mickey's back, and Ian couldn't be happier about that.

* * *

Later that night, Ian is walking with Mickey to the dugouts. The air is hot, but Ian doesn't think it's all because of the weather. He talks about his summer classes, West Point, his plans for the army. His future. He doesn't know why, it's not like Mickey asked, Mickey never does. Sometimes, though, Mickey will listen, just let Ian talk. Ian doesn't get to talk with anyone else, not like this. And sometimes, Mickey will say something back, like now. Even if Mickey's just joking about Ian getting shot. He wonders, though, what Mickey would do if Ian were to really get hurt like that. Would he be sad? Angry? Would he have a reaction at all? Ian wonders a lot about Mickey Milkovich these days.

He wonders if Mickey would let him lick that drop of beer rolling down his chin. Instead he just asks, "So, you make a lot of friends on the inside?"

Mickey is brazen in his answer and smirks. "You wanna chit-chat more, or you wanna get on me?"

Ian's already too worked up to care. Neither he nor Mickey waist any time in dropping their pants, and soon Ian is pressed deep inside Mickey, overwhelmed by the familiar feeling he's missed so long. And Ian smiles again, has to suppress a laugh. He feels giddy inside. He wants to know if Mickey ever feels like this, and if he does, is it because of Ian? God, he wants nothing more than to make Mickey feel as good as Mickey makes him feel.

For now, the only way Ian knows how to do that is by moving inside Mickey. He grips Mickey's hips a little harder, not hard enough to leave bruises, but hard enough that Mickey will remember the feeling. He thrusts a little deeper, a little faster, pulling sweet sounds from Mickey's voice. Mickey feels good, he knows, and it makes Ian smile more. It doesn't take long before Mickey comes undone, Ian following soon after.

Mickey groans into the night, huffs out a laugh. "Always wanted to do that here!" He's got that smirk on him again. He smirks when Ian does pull ups, smirks when he does them himself.

Ian likes that smirk. He supposes it's a good start to a genuine smile.

He asks Mickey out on what could be considered a date. Mickey can't go to the Sox's game though. He's in need of a job for his probation. Ian starts talking about the future again. Mickey's future.

"The hell we talkin' about community college right now? Jesus Christ, you wanna spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?"

That sounds nice, Ian thinks, but of course he doesn't say that. He's upset Mickey. He tries to laugh off Mickey's discouraging words as best as he can. Ian then offers to get Mickey a job at the store. It's not a joke, but Mickey still looks at him like it is. He doesn't look amused though.

Mickey's not fucked for life. Ian doesn't believe that, and he doesn't want Mickey believing that either. He'll do what he can to prove Mickey otherwise.

Mickey's tongue darts out and licks the corner of his lips after he's asked, "Ready to go again?" Ian likes when they can smile at each other, even if it's only teasingly. He doesn't reply. Instead he swiftly turns Mickey around by the shoulder, and soon enough, he's deep inside Mickey again, making him feel as good as he can.

* * *

A few days later, Mickey starts as security at the Kash and Grab with Ian.

Mickey threatens these kids with a little violence if they try to steal anything. Ian grins down at the counter.

"Can you and Sergeant Slaughter over here help me out with a couple cases of pop?" Lip asks.

"Hey, want me to get you some blow? Uppers, downers? Special K?" Mickey offers. Lip declines.

Ian bites back a laugh. He's been doing that a lot around Mickey lately.

He and Mickey help Lip load up the cases onto Kevin's ice cream truck.

Lip has been helping Ian with his summer classes, particularly math. Ian's never been good at math. He supposes Mickey would be just as good a tutor, but Ian won't ask. Mickey would probably never agree to it.

Lip tells him to keep it up with the geometry theorems, and then he and Kevin leave.

"Geometry theorems? For the army?" Mickey asks. There's a specific tone in his voice, like maybe he didn't think Ian was being serious. Or maybe he doesn't want Ian to leave.

Frank comes up one of the aisle, and Ian's mood instantly changes.

There's never a reason to smile when Frank's around.

"Put this on Dottie's account." Frank's trying to walk out with a bag full of groceries without paying.

"We don't have accounts, Frank." Ian's face is hard, and he continues to ring up the total even though Frank is spilling a bunch of bullshit excuses of why he's not paying. He tries to leave but Mickey hinders his path.

"Hey, Frank. Why don't you check your pockets again? Maybe you overlooked something." There's a wide, insincere grin plastered on Mickey's face. He knows Frank wouldn't dare to make a move against him.

Frank slaps down a twenty on the counter and leaves. Ian doesn't much like other people fighting his battles, but he kind of doesn't mind Mickey putting Frank in his place.

"That the kind of leadership you plan on brining to the army?" Mickey remarks.

"Said last night's bottom," Ian retorts. He smirks to himself. He thought it was clever, but Mickey doesn't. Mickey's apparently not ashamed of what he likes, fearful, definitely, because of people like his father, but not ashamed. Truthfully, Ian's kind of surprised by that fact. But he's glad.

* * *

Ian walks with Mickey to the dugouts about three times a week. It's a good place, to fuck. To talk. To just be. There's no one here at night. It provides a bit of shelter, a bit of security, privacy. It's like a bubble. A pocket of this rundown neighborhood reserved just for them. Actually, it's kind of perfect.

On this night, Mickey sits down at the bench and lights up a joint. He hands it to Ian as he joins Mickey. "Swiped it from my brothers," Mickey informs as they pass it back and forth. He goes into this story of how he shouldn't have bothered, since his brothers said they stole it themselves. Something about a client not paying full price, and running off with all their product. So they broke in to the guy's house when no one was home, and stole it back, along with whatever money they found and a few pieces of jewelry they thought they could sell.

"Jackasses had to climb through a window."

"Why?" Ian asks, almost giggling from his high.

"It was still during the day, which is risky enough. They couldn't just waltz in through the fuckin' door."

Ian hums in understanding, taking another hit, and passes the blunt back to Mickey. He watches Mickey unabashedly as Mickey wraps his lips around the last of the roach. Ian's skin feels electric, a warm sensation deep in his stomach. Maybe the weed's just really good. But Ian doubts it's just the weed.

Mickey turns to him, corner of his mouth pulled up, and an eyebrow raised. "C'mon, shotgun." Mickey suggests this a lot, whether it's with beers or weed, doesn't matter. He must like it. Ian doesn't comment on it. He knows better than to question a good thing, especially when it comes to Mickey. Instead, he turns his body so he's facing Mickey at a better angle and opens his mouth. Mickey puckers his lips, and it takes every ounce of control for Ian not to lean in. Mickey blows the smoke into Ian's mouth. Ian is careful not to hold it in too long and start coughing, he doesn't want anything to pull him away from Mickey's face. Not when he's this close.

Ian breathes out slowly, and smiles.

Mickey's eyes dart across Ian's face, and then to the ground, anxiety creeping up on him. He recovers quickly and starts palming Ian through his jeans. The unexpected contact makes Ian gasp. Encouraged, Mickey unzips Ian's jeans, as Ian's hand goes for Mickey's zipper as well.

Their movements are quick and few before Mickey's already pulling off. "Alright, it's not like we got all night." Even though, they kind of do. Mickey starts to remove his clothes hurriedly but Ian hesitates, still sitting on the bench. "We doin' this or not?" Mickey asks.

"Yeah, just…" Ian's voice is low, cautious.

"The hell's the matter with you?"

"Can we… do this a different way?" Mickey prompts Ian for an explanation with a quirked eyebrow. "Like, y'know…" Ian's eyes glance down at the concrete ground for several minutes before looking back up at Mickey and murmurs, "on your back?"

Mickey's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Why?"

"If you don't want to just say so." If Mickey's going to reject him, Ian would rather it be flat out.

Mickey opens and closes his mouth like he wants to, but he doesn't. He sputters, forehead worked into a knot. Instead he settles on, "The floor's dirty."

Ian bites his bottom lip to keep himself from smirking. He removes his shirt quickly and lays it down. "Now give me your shirt." Mickey complies, albeit bashfully. Ian lays that down too. "Better?" Mickey only shrugs in response. He's gone quiet. He's nervous, and Ian has to hold back another grin.

Ian takes Mickey's hips into his hands and guides him back a step so he's up against the barrier. He remains silent as he kneels in front of Mickey and removes Mickey's pants and boxers. Mickey looks down for a split second, and Ian catches his eye as he takes Mickey half soft into his mouth. Mickey averts his eyes, but it's fine, really. Because Mickey reaches down to run a hand through Ian's hair, almost petting him, and it makes Ian hum enthusiastically. Ian hasn't stopped staring up at Mickey. The pale moonlight shines off Mickey's skin, making him look luminescent.

He pulls off abruptly. "Get down here," Ian says, voice strained as he tugs at Mickey's wrist.

Mickey let's himself be maneuvered onto his back before Ian has his mouth between Mickey's legs again. He has his head thrown back, lips slightly parted, and eyelids fluttering. Mickey feels good, Ian knows. Mickey feels good and it's because of Ian. He sees Mickey gulps down a few breaths of air. He can hardly wait for this anymore.

Ian takes out the lube and condom he brought with him from his pocket. He makes quick, but careful, work of getting Mickey ready. He doesn't even bother taking off his jeans and boxers all the way. Ian just slides them down right past his knees. Mickey doesn't seem to mind, any form of objection or complaint completely absent from his face. He looks just as willing, just as eager as Ian feels right now.

Guiding Mickey's legs further apart, Ian presses into Mickey steadily. They both groan out at the sensation, and Ian falls forward, burying his face in Mickey's neck. There's a funny feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. It starts to spread through out the rest of his body, down to the tips of his toes and fingers, until he feels tingly all over. And then Ian is smiling. He chokes out a giggle involuntarily. He feels Mickey tense up beneath him but Ian's already laughing giddily before he can try to stop himself.

"Are you- fucking, seriously?" Mickey barks. It only makes Ian laugh harder. "Are you really fucking laughing right now, man?" Ian's laugh is contagious, and Mickey can feel the corners of his mouth pull up reluctantly. "You're so fucking weird!" That's the last thing Mickey says before he's laughing right along with Ian.

Ian leans up a bit so he can see Mickey. His own laughing begins to subside when he sees how wide Mickey is smiling. That's it, that's all Ian wanted. To make Mickey smile. And Ian wasn't even trying.

Mickey goes quiet when he notices Ian is just staring at him. "What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

Ian shakes his head dismissively. "I just… I didn't think you'd ever let me do this."

"Whatever," Mickey says turning away again. He licks at his lips, trying to will his smile away. It's too late, though. Ian's already seen it, and he wants to see it as much as possible. He dips his mouth down at Mickey's throat, grazing the skin with his lips lightly, and starts to move his hips. Mickey grunts his satisfaction, instinctively wrapping his legs around Ian.

Ian doesn't think sex with Mickey has ever felt better, and he knows by the expressions and sounds Mickey's making that Mickey feels the same. He feels Mickey's palm push up against his chest though.

"You tryin' to smother or me or something?" Mickey tries to say defensively.

"Sorry." Ian gets the message. Too much contact, too much for Mickey, anyway, that he felt uncomfortable. Ian holds himself up on his hands, and he thinks maybe this angle is better. He can watch Mickey this way, after all. He snaps his hips forward, and Mickey arches his back off the ground. Ian's thankful, he didn't think he'd last long like this, and takes Mickey into his hand. He tries to mimic the speed of his thrusts, but the two rhythms are off, too frantic to get Mickey off so he can reach his own release.

A moan tears itself from Mickey's throat when he comes, and a few moments later Ian follows.

Ian stills inside Mickey briefly before he pulls out. He slumps down on the ground next to him, panting just as hard as Mickey. He wipes off the sweat on his forehead, but it makes his hand sting. He looks at it, and discovers the heel of his palm is scraped. He inspects his right hand. That one's only bruised, but it still hurts. "Shit…"

"What?" Mickey asks, eyes blinking open.

Ian sits up and looks down at his legs where his knees are slightly bloodied. "Fuck."

Mickey chuckles. "That's what you fuckin' get."

"Whatever," Ian snorts, lying back down. "It was worth it."

"Yeah?"

Ian turns his head to the side, and Mickey meets his gaze.

Mickey is smiling.

"Yeah."


End file.
